Journal Entry One

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September 17 1932

So far so good, I haven't been caught yet. The stories they write on the news about me...geez can't they humiliate me anymore? They haven't gotten my real identity yet, at least I hope so. Being a 'normal' school girl has been easy. For my whole life I've been emotionless. My parents begged for a normal child but they got me instead. I got teased for being different from the other children, so I acted happy, like I had real emotions. My parents tried everything to make me happy. Still hasn't worked. Is hope an emotion? Can I hope for the future? Can I wish? Or is it too much to ask?

Signed,

Z

(117 words)

Confessions of a Murderer [ON HOLD]Des histoires addictives. Découvrez maintenant